Drink up, baby, stay up all night.
With the things you could do,
You won't but you might.
The potential you'll be,
That you'll never see,
The promises you'll only make.
- Elliott Smith, "Between the Bars"
I'm currently listening to a track
("Twilight") from Elliott Smith's upcoming posthumous release From a Basement on the Hill
. As usual, Smith's sparse acoustic guitar showcases his voice, poised on the point of heartbreak. And what heartbreak it is: Smith's lyrics are filled with regret and with tales of paths closed and not passable ("You're wonderful, when it's beautiful / But I'm already somebody's baby"). Such misery, so undeserved, so impossible to anaesthetise ("those drugs you got won't make you feel better / Pretty soon you'll find it's the only / Little part of your life you're keeping together"). Reflective, sadly, of his internal turmoil. RIP, Elliott - a talent much missed.